The Nexus of Lexus

A stretch of Maple Road in West Bloomfield proves dangerous to Grandma Bobbie's Lexus.

My 92-year-old Grandma Bobbie has been driving around the Detroit metropolitan region for over 70 years, piloting a glamorous selection of vehicles that included 1960s Lincolns and 1970s Cadillacs. But even during her stint behind the wheel of a cream-colored, first-generation Audi 5000 in the 1980s—a car plagued by reports of "unintended acceleration"—she managed to keep her bumpers aligned. All of that has changed recently. And for all of you who might immediately blame Bobbie's advancing age, well, take a look at her, and note that in none of these incidents was she at fault.

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Though the connection may be correlative rather than causal, all three accidents occurred in her 2006 Lexus ES 350, painted an auric hue we like to refer to as JRG: Jewish Racing Gold. The other link is that all of these incidents took place on the same stretch of Maple Road in West Bloomfield, a cursed two-lane that we have now officially nicknamed the Nexus of Lexus. "I told the manager at the body shop, 'I'm here so often, you should give me a discount,'" Grandma Bobbie told me. "And you know what? He did."

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One of these incidents was a hit-and-run; a guy plowed into Bobbie as he botched a turn, then lured her into a parking lot from which he fled. In the second wreck, a guy slammed into her while she was stopped in traffic. "My guess was that he was talking on his cell phone," she told me, finding a perfectly appropriate outlet for her general disdain for mobile technology. In the third, she was rammed by a guy about 25 years her junior. "I was talking to your Uncle Dennis after the accident," she said, "and when I mentioned the name of the man who hit me, he said, 'I know him. We went to elementary school together.'" Such is the diasporic migration of Detroit's Jews, a universal movement from the city's west side to the Promised Land in the northwest suburbs.

When I asked if this confluence of crashes had scared her off driving, Bobbie delivered a firm no. "I still like to drive," she said. "But I don't like to have other cars too close by. I like to keep a lot of space around me."

Bobbie also only drives during the day. But she and her best girlfriend, Evelyn Cantor—who is now 96 and whom she's known since 1943 when they were young mothers strolling their sons around the old neighborhood—don't let that stop them from meeting weekly for a matinee and an early dinner. Being Detroiters and independent women, though they lived near each other, they've traditionally driven to this date separately. But after a pair of recent crashes in which she was at fault, Evelyn chose to give up her license, requiring a move into assisted living.

"They have a shuttle there that can take the residents wherever they want to go," Bobbie told me. "Evelyn goes to her beauty operator once a week—she's still blond. But now I pick her up when we go to the movies." I asked if Evelyn, used to driving independently, was a good passenger. "Of course. Though the first time I drove her, she offered to give me money for gas. 'Are you kidding?' I said. 'I'd be driving to the movies to meet you anyway.'" But there is one key difference. "Evelyn's new place is right off of Maple. But I found a special route to the theater, so I don't have to drive on that stretch where I had all the accidents."